chapter ten
the possibility of more

☼ ☽

Jill used to have this aunt—her Aunt Maureen—who would always use the phrase 'say when' when she was pouring a drink for her. Of course, she never did actually tell her when to stop because there was something about the possibility of more that just drew her in. She never said when because she wondered what would happen if the juice flowed over the brim of the glass. It might have spilled, but maybe not. And even if it did, maybe she'd like it that way. It was a small act of chaos, but that wasn't why she never said when. Chaos or not, more was always better. More alcohol, more cigarettes, more love. More was better. It was as simple as that.

So later that night, Jill Samson sat on her bed, staring at her reflection in her floor-length mirror as she took sips from a wine bottle she found hidden in the fridge. She kept taking swigs of the substance, groaning as it burned her chest, but she didn't stop because more was better. More alcohol meant less feeling, less pain, less thinking, more floating in an abyss of nothingness.

By the time she was half-way through the bottle, her head started to feel a little fuzzy. She wasn't drunk, she knew that, but she wasn't completely sober either. She was walking the tightrope between slurred words and blacking out. If she kept going and stole another bottle from the fridge, she was sure her head would be killing her in the morning. But for right now, Jill stuck with the one bottle and let it carry her away. She felt cloudy . . . no . . . she felt like she was sitting on a cloud, floating away from all her feelings, all her problems. Jill laughed. She liked floating.

A knock at her bedroom window ripped Jill from the void, forcing her to come back to reality. It was raining outside, encasing the town of Derry in a storm, so Jill almost suspected the knock to be the cause of a rogue tree branch or a rock hitting her window. But when she turned to look at the glass panes, the face of Beverly Marsh was hidden in the shadows of the darkness.

Jill quickly set the wine bottle on her nightstand then sprung from her spot on her bed and unlocked the window, pushing it open so Beverly could climb through. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. If Beverly had enough guts to walk to Jill's apartment in the pouring rain then something must have been wrong. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, sunshine, don't look so blue. I'm perfectly fine." Beverly shoved one leg over the threshold of the window, then pulled the rest of her body through it until she was standing in the middle of Jill's room with a puddle of water surrounding her.

Jill closed the window and turned around. "Are you sure?"

Beverly laughed. "Yes, see," she said, gesturing to herself. She even did a twirl before she turned back to Jill and gave her a two-finger salute.

Jill wasn't convinced, but she didn't pry, she only watched as Beverly dug through the dresser to find dry clothes. The redhead picked out an oversized shirt and cotton shorts, holding them in the air as she observed them. She held them close to her chest and glanced at Jill out of the corner of her eye. "Can you turn around for a sec?" she asked, a slight smile pressed against her lips.

Jill's eyes widened into saucers. "Oh . . . sure!" she said, maybe a little too quickly as she turned on her heels and faced the window. She stubbed her toe on the wall as she turned, causing her to wince, but she didn't move to rub the ache away.

"Okay, done," Beverly mumbled after a minute.

Jill turned around to see Beverly laying on her bed in her clothes. Her blue eyes were on her, watching her every movement as the brunette shifted from side to side on her feet. Beverly crossed one leg over the other and stretched her hands out at her sides as she stared at the popcorn ceiling. Jill chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyes danced across the room. She took one more look at the ginger before she tip-toed across the creaky floorboards and laid down beside her, mirroring her position.

The Samson girl shifted her head so she was staring at her friend. "Hey," she whispered, poking Beverly's freckled cheek.

A smile lifted onto Beverly's face. "Hey." She turned to face the girl beside her, searching her face. "I know you said you were tired but—" a sigh escaped her lips—" I just really needed to see you."

Jill's eyes softened. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Beverly glanced at her friend before turning her attention back to the ceiling. "My dad's a dick," she breathed out, her voice shaky.

"Duh, we knew that," the brunette said, trying to lighten the mood. When Beverly didn't laugh, Jill sighed and turned her attention to the ceiling. "Did he hurt you again?"

"Um."

All the humor left Jill's voice. "Bev." She was going to kill Alvin Marsh, like bash-his-brains-in kill. She had thought many times about purchasing a baseball bat just to pound it into his skull. The idea was rather tempting especially since he had proven to be worse than the monsters hiding in Jill's head, but she never did because Beverly always stopped her. She wasn't saying she'd necessarily kill the man, maybe she'd get him locked up in jail somehow. Although, there was one time she dumped a bottle of laxatives in his coffee when he wasn't looking and he spent the rest of the day on the toilet. He claimed he was bleeding by the end of the day, so Jill wasn't sure if she would put murder past her.

Before Jill could open her mouth again, Beverly changed the subject. "Have you been drinking?" she asked, eyeing the bottle of wine sitting on the nightstand.

Jill followed Beverly's eyes to the half-empty bottle of wine. "Oh, uh, yeah," she mumbled as the thoughts of the fight with her father popped into her head.

Beverly sat up, leaning her back against the wall. "Hand it over," she said, gesturing to the bottle.

A silent laugh escaped Jill's lips as she shook her head and reached for the bottle. She used her arm to push herself off the bed then scooted closer to Beverly so their arms were touching. She passed the bottle to Beverly who eagerly took it, lifting it to her lips and taking a swig. Her eyes fluttered closed a second later as she tilted her head back and took another sip. "What is this?" Beverly asked, smacking her lips together.

Jill leaned her head against the wall. "Wine," she said as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. "Red, I think."

"Mhm," Beverly smacked her lips together again, "tastes like blood."

Jill snorted. "Shut up." A smile lifted onto her face and she nudged the girl with her elbow.

The silence consumed them a second later and Jill's smile faltered. It reminded her of the silence which followed after her father retreated to his room for the night. Her thoughts were suddenly consumed by images of her mother, then the fight, then her cup of stars. She glanced over at her dresser where the cup of stars sat in a place it would never break. Her father had fixed it for her and she had acted like such a bitch. Don't get her wrong, she was still mad at him for driving her mother out of town, but the guilt from yelling at him had begun to eat away at her flesh. "Um, so I lied," she began quietly, but her eyes stayed trained on her hands. "I wasn't tired. I came home because of my mom." She let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I just really miss her. And then something happened with my dad. Anyway, I just . . . I think I'm a really shitty person."

Beverly passed the wine bottle to Jill. Jill hastily grabbed it and took a sip. "What happened?" Beverly asked. Her voice was quiet and comforting. It made Jill's heart warm just as the wine burned her chest.

Jill breathed in sharply, exhaling even sharper. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, burning holes through her body. She breathed through the fire. "He wanted to celebrate today! On the day she left and it made me so mad because what the fuck?" she sneered, her expression hardening as she remembered the fireworks in his hands and his smile. He had been smiling that day of all days. "We never celebrate the fourth. Half the time he's at work or getting another job, and I get it. I do. But he's never here and when he is all I can think about is my mom and how she felt when he was MIA. She left because he was never around and when he was, he wasn't really here. And I get he's trying now, but he should have tried harder then. It's too late to try now. She's already gone."

"Oh," Beverly whispered. She didn't speak a word more because the look on Jill's face told her she wasn't done.

The Samson girl grew silent for a second as boiling magma coursed through her veins. She was still mad at him. She was sure she'd always be. There wasn't a universe out there where she and her father got along. She was sure they'd always find something to fight about. But Jill didn't live in another universe, she lived in this one—the one where her father fixed her cup of stars. Sure, she hated him, but that didn't mean she didn't regret yelling at him like that. Because truth be told, she had let her anger take control of her, and that was on her. The world could set on fire and she'd be the only one to blame because she would be the one holding the jug of kerosene and a lighter.

"But—" Jill began slowly— "that doesn't matter. The point is I've been a dick, too, and I think he hates me. I don't even blame him." Her vision clouded with tears, but she didn't blink them away, she wallowed in the blurry sight and took a long sip of the bottle of wine. She had become rather fond of the burn it left as she swallowed. She wondered what other kinds of alcohol her father stored in the house. Maybe she'd go looking for more another day.

Beverly grabbed the bottle out of her friend's hands and reached over her to put it back on the nightstand. "He doesn't hate you," she whispered, nudging her arm. "He's your dad."

"You don't know that." The muscles in Jill's neck tightened, forming an unbearable lump restricting her airways. She swallowed to ease the ache, but it only intensified the more she tried to conceal her feelings. A painful pounding began to pulsate through her head, and she rubbed it with the palm of her head to ease it, but it wouldn't budge. She felt like she was going to explode. Even her eyes had begun to ache just as a few tears spilled over her cheeks. Jill angrily wiped them away. "Just because he's my dad doesn't mean he has to love me," she muttered through silent sobs.

Beverly's jaw locked, but her expression softened when she glanced at Jill. She slowly reached out to interlock their pinkies together. "But he does and you know it," she reassured as she squeezed her pinky with hers. "We all make mistakes, but he's always going to be there for you . . . and so will I . . . always."

Jill tilted her head back and focused her attention on the ginger. Her brown eyes searched the girl's face, but she didn't need to look for long, she always found the answers hidden in Beverly's freckles. Beverly gave her a lopsided grin before she lifted the covers and climbed under them. She nestled her wet hair into the pillow, then closed her eyes and rested her hands behind her head. But before her hands could disappear behind her head, Jill caught a glimpse of a violet tint tattooed on her wrists.

"Shit, he did hurt you," Jill swore, frantically grabbing Beverly's wrists and caressing them in her hands. Her anger was back again. It was stronger this time. She wanted to march over to the Marsh residence and punch Alvin Marsh for every time he laid a hand on his daughter. She wanted blood, but she couldn't return to Beverly with the stench of copper on her breath. "I'll fucking kill him."

"Jill, calm down," Bev spoke quietly and sternly, but her voice was strenuous, almost as if the words were hard to get out.

"Calm down?" Jill questioned with her brows sitting low on her face. "He's hurting you, Bev. He's still hurting you. Like really hurting you. I know he's your dad, but blood doesn't always mean family. Someone who loved you, really loved you wouldn't hurt you. They'd protect you, again and again, no matter the circumstances." Her vision was blurry once again. "I'm your family. I will always protect you. So, just say the word. Say the word and I'll make him regret hurting you."

Beverly laughed, but it sounded strained. "You can't punch yourself out of every problem."

"Maybe not, but I can try." The brunette swallowed the lump in her throat as she scanned her eyes over the girl's face. She noticed a small cut just above Beverly's light brow, and instantly her heart dropped. The realization that Beverly could die because of her father's actions made the air taste like poison. She couldn't lose Beverly. She just couldn't. She hated Alvin Marsh more than anything in the world and she would give anything to put an end to his existence. Yeah, she knew they were dark thoughts and she shouldn't have been thinking about bringing harm to another human being, but men who crossed the line didn't deserve to be treated like their lives mattered. These thoughts had been ingrained into her. Do no harm. Be kind. You'll catch more bees with honey. But Jill didn't want to catch any bees, she'd rather have them sting her and watch them die.

Beverly sighed. "You don't have to fight for me. I've got it handled."

"But I do. Because you're my best friend and I hate him. I fucking hate him for what he does to you," Jill spat. She was itching to caress the small cut just above Bev's brow and she couldn't help but follow through with her thoughts and she ran her fingers over the skin. "You promised he stopped," she weakly breathed, retracting her hand from Beverly's face and cradling it in her chest.

Beverly stared at her for a while and let the silence consume them. Jill took this time to slide under the covers and face the ginger. She flipped on her side with her hands folded under her cheek as she anticipated what Beverly was going to say.

"I knew if you knew the truth you'd go all Carrie on Prom Night," Beverly mumbled, breaking through the silence.

Jill sneered, but her expression softened when she saw the look on Beverly's face. "That doesn't excuse it," she said slowly and quietly, but her voice was hard. "Look at what he's done to you." She gestured with her eyes to the bruises painting Beverly's stark skin.

"Let's just drop it, okay?" Beverly glanced at the popcorn ceiling as she weaved a hand through her damp hair. "Besides I have something more important to tell you."

Silence consumed them as Jill trapped herself in her thoughts. She thought for a moment about pressing the situation, but she didn't want to upset Beverly. When Beverly was upset, she didn't like to dwell on it, and bringing up the issue would only make her more uncomfortable, and Jill never wanted to put her in that situation. So, she bottled up her anger and tried to push away the thoughts of punching Alvin Marsh in the face. She didn't want to. She wanted to forget about the bottle and let her chaos explode, but she had to. She had to do it for Beverly.

Jill sighed. "What is it?" she asked as she nestled her cheek against the back of her hand.

Beverly bit the inside of her cheek. "It's kind of a secret . . . "

Jill snorted. "Who would I tell?"

"Well, there's Richie and Stan for one," the ginger stated, solemnly.

Jill scrunched up her nose like she had smelled something foul. "Oh, god, ew, I wouldn't tell them shit," she said, her voice dripping with disgust. "Besides, they wouldn't care to even listen."

Beverly raised her brows. "Swear?" she asked, pointedly.

Jill snorted and held out her hand, sticking out her pinky finger. "Pinky swear." She interlocked her pinky with Beverly's and they shook their hands, forging the swear. "It's our secret."

Beverly looked at her, really looked at her, and Jill could see her debating something in her head. She wanted to know what was going on in her mind. She wanted to say she could tell her anything, anything at all and she'd stay because nothing Beverly could ever do would make Jill run for the hills. She'd always be right there by her side even if they stepped on an elevator to Hell. Jill would let Beverly drag her to the pits of Hell if it meant she could hold her hand on the way down.

"Okay, fine," the red haired girl gave in, pulling out a folded up piece of paper that she had stuck in her bra. She unfolded the paper, revealing it to be a postcard—the same postcard Jill found in her room when they went over to clean the bathroom. "So after we came home from Ben's I found this postcard in my backpack. I thought maybe Bill wrote it, but when I asked him, he didn't know what I was talking about."

Jill nodded in acknowledgment, glancing out the window to avoid the intense stare Beverly was sending her way. She feared if she looked her in the eyes she'd see the fire burning behind her obsidian irises. She didn't want Beverly to know just how much that postcard made her want to run to her place on the Ogdens' property and scream. "So," she muttered under her breath, "who do you think wrote it? Must be some poet, right? January embers, huh? Sounds . . . thoughtful." She turned to look at Beverly once she concealed her emotions.

Something flashed in Beverly's eyes. Realization maybe? But what had she realized? "How did you know what it said?" the ginger asked cautiously as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Jill's eyes widened into saucers when she realized what she had said, but she quickly composed herself. She couldn't let Beverly know she read the poem. That would make her look like such an idiot. "Oh," she blew a raspberry, "I saw what it said when you were . . . um . . . holding it up."

Beverly nodded. "Oh," she mumbled, her voice quiet and filled with disappointment. Jill made a face. Why was she disappointed? "Um, anyway, it could still be Bill." Bev shrugged, toying with the edges of the postcard. "I read that boys lie when they're nervous."

Jill raised a brow. "Where'd you read that shit?"

"In a magazine," she mumbled in a barely audible voice.

Jill stared at her red-haired friend for only a moment with disbelief and slight amusement. The brunette felt laughter bubbling in her throat and she tried to fight the urge to laugh. The feeling in her throat became so unbearable but she tried to sustain until she couldn't hold back her giggles any longer and threw her head back, letting out a loud laugh. "You—" she burst into another fit of laughing hysterics— "Beverly Elfrida Marsh, read a dating article in a magazine?"

Beverly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hey, don't laugh you'd do the same thing if you were desperate."

Jill snorted. "I don't think I'll ever be that desperate."

A grin lifted onto the redhead's freckled face. "Oh, shut up," she said, nudging Jill's arm with her elbow. "The point is whoever this is . . . likes me, Jill." She ran a finger along the edges of the postcard. "Somebody actually likes me. I just . . . I wish I knew who wrote it."

Jill wished she knew, too. She wasn't going to go after them like some possessive psycho bitch, but at least then she would know who was stealing Beverly's heart. Then, she could decide if the person would treat her the way she deserved. Because truth be told, even if Beverly never looked at Jill in that way, she at least wanted her to be with someone who would treat her right. Whoever she ended up with had to know just how special Beverly Marsh truly was. She was as bright as the moon and just as beautiful, too. She was different, a good different. Plus, she had this way of making Jill laugh when all she wanted to do was explode. That made Beverly Marsh special, and if no one else could see that then they didn't deserve her attention.

"Anyways, who do you think might have written it?" Beverly asked, bringing Jill out of her thoughts.

Jill shrugged. "Probably Bill." Her blood boiled at the feeling of his name coming from her lips. As much as she despised him, she knew what Beverly wanted to hear. It was his name. It was always Bill.

An image of Bill and Beverly dating popped into her head, and Jill almost turned nuclear. She shook her head at the thought of Bill and Beverly holding hands and turned her attention to the poem. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, the postcard would burst into flames. She almost tried, too, but something on the postcard caught her attention before she could even attempt. On the corner of the damp postcard was a splotch of blood. "Why's there blood on it?" she asked, reaching over to run her fingertips over the dried blood.

"From the sink." Beverly sighed and folded the postcard into a small square. She stuck the folded postcard back inside her bra, then turned on her side to face Jill. She folded her hands together and tucked them under her head, resting her cheek on them.

Jill followed in her lead and turned on her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. She shifted closer to the girl beside her until their hands were nearly touching. They were so close, Jill could feel Beverly's heat radiating off her skin. She rather enjoyed this silence they had found themselves in, but as usual, Jill's mind drifted to other places.

One second Jill was focusing on the freckles painting Beverly's face, then the next she was thinking about that bathroom. All the blood, the stench, everything came back to her, causing the hairs on the back on her neck to stand on edge. She thought of the hand around her neck and how she couldn't breathe. It had tried to kill her. She had almost died, and yet all the Losers were completely desensitized to all the horrors they had endured. She wondered for a moment if any of the others had seen It twice . . . or if it had just been her.

Her mouth felt dry as she inhaled until air filled her lungs to the brim. She exhaled through her nose before she gathered enough courage to voice her thoughts. "Did you see anything else?" Jill asked. "Like more than once? Or anything . . . like . . . that?"

Beverly drifted her eyes down to Jill's bruised neck, and her face instantly softened. "Not see," she said in a hushed voice. "I didn't tell you this, but the voices I heard . . . yours was one of them. That's why I went to the sink . . . because I heard you calling for help, but it wasn't you." She swallowed hard and puffed out her cheeks, exhaling slowly. "Not the real you anyway."

That got Jill thinking. Beverly had heard her voice, and Jill had seen Beverly. Maybe she deserved to know it was her who had been haunting her dreams. She didn't think too much about why she felt the need to share or why she even wanted to, she just let her mouth do the talking for her. "Remember how I said I watched someone die in one of those hauntings or whatever they are?" she hesitantly asked. Beverly nodded in response. "That was you. And ever since then I've felt like we're living with a time limit. I feel like you're gonna leave me and I don't know what I'd do if you left. I don't think I could handle it." She was on the verge of tears again. The thought of living without Beverly Marsh was one she never wanted to think about and that summer had forced her to confront that very notion. "I just . . . I don't ever want to lose you."

Beverly's expression softened. "You won't," she whispered hoarsely. "And for the record, I don't want to lose you either."

They both smiled softly and stared into each other's eyes. Brown mixing with blue. The world seemed to fall away as they stared, the silence encircling them in its warm embrace. Jill let her eyes drift down to Beverly's lips. They looked soft and pink and she wondered if they would feel just as soft on her own lips. She wondered what would happen if she just pressed her lips against hers. Just one kiss couldn't hurt.

Her aunt's words popped into her head. Say when, she said, but Jill couldn't form the words. Because the truth was she wanted more. She wanted to be with Beverly more. She wanted to be more than friends. She wanted more and more and more. Because more was always better. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Because maybe, just maybe, the possibility of more could be true. She wasn't sure if it was the late hours of the night or the alcohol influencing her, but the thought of more everything with Beverly Marsh wouldn't let her rest. And then she wasn't thinking anymore.

As Beverly opened her mouth to break the silence, Jill leaned forward and brushed her lips against hers. Beverly sat frozen, even her breath had stilled. Jill's breath caught in her throat and she was sure her heart had stopped beating as well. Any second now, she could go into cardiac arrest, but she didn't care. She was done thinking. Jill crashed her lips against Beverly's and the world fell away along with all her thoughts. She kissed her slow and soft, the rhythm like a dance they only knew. She reached to caress Beverly's cheek, but before she could, the ginger shot back.

Beverly stared at her, confusion swirling in her eyes. "Jill . . . "

Jill squeezed her eyes shut, praying even though she didn't believe in a god that this was all a dream. She needed it to be a dream. She did not kiss her best friend. She did not. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she whispered over and over like a mantra. "I'm just drunk." She fell back and burned holes into the ceiling. She couldn't look at Beverly. She just couldn't. "I was sad and I started drinking. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I wouldn't—"

"It's okay. We're cool," Beverly said quickly before Jill got herself tongue-tied. "It's just one little kiss. It doesn't mean anything, right?"

Jill swallowed hard and forced herself to look at the girl beside her. She thought of her aunt's words and wondered if more really was better. It didn't feel like it. She knew what Beverly would say if Jill confessed the kiss did actually mean something. She didn't know the exact details, but she did know she'd lose her first and only best friend. Come on, Jill, get it together. This is Beverly. You can't fuck this up. So she decided, more was always better until more got in the way with what you already had. And Jill Samson did not want to lose her best friend just because there was a sliver of a possibility of more. She couldn't take that chance. She wouldn't.

"Yeah, totally!" Jill breathed out quickly then laughed awkwardly. But she wasn't fine with it, she felt like her heart was being dissected and she hadn't been put under before the surgery.

The silence consumed them once again but its embrace was no longer warm, instead, it touched them both with a frozen hand, chilling them to the bone. Jill thought it was unbearable. She felt the urge to run out her door and sprint all the way to the lake. There she would be safe. But then she remembered her mother and everything fell apart. She had nowhere to go. No matter where she went, she'd be reminded by all the things that had gone wrong in her life.

Fuck this.

"Um, so I came here because I couldn't sleep," Beverly softly began, breaking the silence, "and you're like this soft pillow person . . . so . . . "

Jill laughed, but her heart felt heavy. "Soft pillow person?" she asked, lazily. Her eyes felt heavy like she was about to cry, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't let Beverly know her tears were for her. She just wouldn't.

Beverly nodded. "Yep—" she poked Jill's cheek— "soft!" She was grinning but her eyes told another story, only Jill couldn't decipher what exactly was really on her mind.

A small smile lifted onto Jill's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh. She sighed. "Sometimes I swear there's nothing in there," she hummed, knocking on Beverly's forehead. "Yeah, nothing in there. Just an echo."

Beverly gasped and touched a hand to her chest. "That's so rude," she scoffed, but the corners of her lips were turned up into a smile. "I can't believe you would say that to me."

Jill snorted. "Oh really?" She felt a little better that Beverly wasn't freaking out and accusing her of being in love with her. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe the kiss hadn't changed anything. Maybe Jill could forget this ever happened and blame it on the alcohol.

Beverly continued her act as she crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin. "Yes, I can't even believe I'm still your friend," she huffed. And then it was silent. Because, yes, Jill knew she was joking, but the words still stabbed her fragile heart even more. Beverly seemed to notice this because the next second, she was offering up a genuine smile. "I'm kidding. You really are my best friend, you know that, right?" Her expression grew serious. "I would never leave you. I wouldn't be able to live without you. So where you go I go, got it?

Jill smiled. "Got it."

A smile lifted onto Beverly's face as well. "Okay, so . . . I'm tired," she said warmly as she nestled further under the covers. "Goodnight, sunshine." She pulled the covers all the way up to her chin and closed her eyes as a complacently sigh escaped her lips.

"Night." Jill reached to turn off the light, then the darkness consumed them and she felt invisible. She liked it that way. It gave her a silent power.

A sigh escaped her lips as Jill turned away from Beverly and faced the open space of her bedroom. She bit the inside of her cheek and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. The stars always made her feel better, but not this time around. She felt like the world was falling on her shoulders and she wasn't strong enough to hold it up. Beverly didn't love her, at least, not like that. She knew that now, and it hurt like Hell. She was sure her heart was being ripped out of her chest and she was forced to lay still and watch. But she couldn't let that show. Forget the chaos, she had to bottle it up. If she didn't, she could lose the only friend she had ever had in her whole life, and she wasn't about to take those chances.

That was enough reasoning to convince Jill that she had to pretend the kiss didn't mean anything. She had to pretend everything was normal. As she pretended, she tried to fall asleep, but the warm embrace of sleep never came for her. And as she laid there in the dark, silently sobbing, she thought about the poem. Whoever had written it, had gotten one thing right—Beverly's hair was winter fire, and Jill's heart burned there, too. She only wished the fire hadn't burned her heart to ash.

a/n: yes, they did kiss!!! i luv them!! also i was going to make this longer & add the thing at bill's house, but i decided against it because they deserve their own chapter before all the shit goes down!! also, also, i gave beverly the middle name elfrida because that was her mother's name in the book!!

thanks for reading!